


To Grandomother's House We Go

by lucybun



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-01
Updated: 2011-06-01
Packaged: 2017-10-20 00:33:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/206906
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucybun/pseuds/lucybun
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lestrade takes Mycroft to meet his grandmother.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Grandomother's House We Go

He hadn't wanted to do it.  In fact, he'd fought tooth and nail to get out of it.  All to no avail.  He should have known better than to bother.  His grandmother had called last month and issued the summons for Greg to bring Mycroft down for the weekend.   His grandmother was all the family he had left in the world, and he'd known rationally that he would have to introduce her to the man he intended to marry sooner or later.  He'd just been hoping for later.  Like wedding day later.  Mycroft had, of course, been waiting patiently for him to introduce them for some time.  He hadn't badgered Greg about it, but he was well aware that Mycroft thought he was being ridiculous.  And though he could deal with putting-off one or the other of them, there was no way he could defend against both a determined Holmes and an equally determined grandmother.  So after a week of hemming and hawing, he'd finally given in and accepted his grandmother's “invitation.”  Which is how he found himself driving down the narrow road to her little house in the country with The British Government sitting next to him in the passenger seat.

Mycroft had spent most of the journey reading through files and texting not-Anthea.  Greg didn't mind.  He wasn't exactly in a chatty mood himself.  He could feel his jaw clamping tighter and tighter as they neared their destination.  He'd have a blistering headache by the time they arrived.  He started mentally catalogueing each tension-filled muscle group and trying to force them to relax one by one.  He deliberately loosened his white-knuckle grip on the steering wheel then dropped his shoulders out of the taut line they'd been in.  He was just starting to work on his jaw when Mycroft glanced up from his work.

“What on earth are you doing?”

Greg sniffed a bit then answered, “Well, I'm driving, aren't I?”

“What are you doing with your mouth?”

“I'm trying to work my jaw loose, thank you.”

“Ah.  I didn't hear your teeth grinding.”

“Hadn't gotten to the grinding yet.  I was still at clinching.”

“That's good.  The grinding is very bad for your teeth.”

“I know.”

“And you have lovely teeth.”

At that, Greg shot him a disbelieving look from the corner of his eye.

“Teeth?  I have lovely teeth?”

“Of course you do.”  Mycroft reached his hand over and gently brushed the side of Greg's face with the back of his fingers.  “You have lovely everything.”

Greg very much wanted to close his eyes and lean into that brief touch, but he didn't.  Not just because he needed to keep his eyes on the road, but also because he was still far too keyed-up to relax into even Mycroft's touch.

“It will be fine.  I don't know why you're so very worried about this.  I've managed to charm emperors and generals this world over.  I think I can handle your grandmother.  Grandmothers like me, Gregory.  They like to pat me and give me sweets.”

Greg huffed a bit at the thought of little old ladies cooing over Mycroft Holmes.  They probably never knew what hit them when he turned that gentle voice and politely confident bearing on them full-force.  It had certainly worked a number on Greg.  He just doubted its ability to do the same to his nan.  His grandfather had affectionately called her “a tough old bird,” and rightly so.  Mycroft might have ingratiated himself to powerful men and sweet little ladies on several continents, but he hadn't met Virginia Lestrade.

Which was why Greg was near to grinding his teeth and working a dent into the steering wheel.  He didn't know what would happen when his feisty grandmother met the leashed power that was his lover,  but he very much feared it would be like setting a match to a stick of dynamite.  He was already bracing himself for the explosion. 

Right about that time, they reached the open gate at the end of the driveway.  He drove between the wooden posts and as they headed around a tree-lined curve, the little house came into view.  The sound of the car alerted her to their arrival, and he watched his nan step out into the garden and begin waving, a delighted look on her face.

“There.  Look at her.  She's so excited to see you.  That's very sweet.”

He pulled up to the little graveled area next to her own ancient automobile, and she was pulling open his door before he'd even cut the engine.  His nervousness lifted a bit in the pure joy that was seeing her again.  He stepped out and wrapped her in his arms.  She did the same, laughing, “Oh, but I've missed you.  I hate when you go this long without coming home.”

He held onto her for a few moments and replied, “I know.  I've just been busy.  You know how it goes.”

“I do indeed,” she spoke as she pulled loose from his embrace.  She turned her head around to get a good look at Mycroft who was calmly standing near the boot of the car, watching the reunion with a fond little smile on his face.  “Is this what's been keeping you so busy?” she asked, jerking her thumb in Mycroft's direction.

He sort of choked, at a complete loss for words as to how to answer that.  She was winding him up and trying to get a first impression of his boyfriend all at the same time.  It didn't matter that he knew what she was doing, though.  He was eternally twelve years old when it came to his nan, that wasn't going to change today.

Taking notice of his distress, Mycroft stepped forward and introduced himself.

“I do believe I am part of the reason he has been so busy, yes.  My apologies.  Mycroft Holmes.” 

When Nan held out her hand, Mycroft took it and bowed ever so slightly over it instead of shaking it in greeting.  This was one of the things Greg had worried about.  He was very afraid that Mycroft's gallantry might be mistaken for poncy nonsense here, but one look at his nan quickly disabused him of that notion.  She looked a bit stunned at the action and there was just the tiniest hint of a blush creeping across her features as she replied, “Virginia Lestrade.” He began to relax ever so slightly as he watched her gather her wits about her.  She finally pushed Greg on the shoulder and said, “Well enough of that then.  Let's get you boys inside and get some food into you.  Real food.  None of that mess you eat out of paper containers every night.”

“I don't eat take-away every night, Nan,” he grumbled as he and Mycroft fetched their bags from the boot. 

She shot Mycroft another sharp look.  “No?  You have something to do with that, too?”

Mycroft smiled and said, “Yes, I think so.” 

At that, she nodded and headed into the house.  She led them upstairs to their rooms.  Plural.  He and Mycroft had discussed this and agreed that they would sleep in separate beds here.  They were all adults, and they all knew that it was something of a farce, but it was a farce that made them all more comfortable.  “No sex in your grandmother's house” seemed to be a rule even a Holmes had no interest  in bucking. 

“I'll just let you two get settled then.  Lunch is in fifteen minutes,” she said as she headed back downstairs.

Mycroft met his eyes across the little hallway then turned to open his case and put away his clothes in the wardrobe.  Greg supposed that was a good idea, so he did the same.  Two minutes later he walked into Mycroft's room and shut the door behind him.

Mycroft looked at the closed door and then back at Greg.  “I seem to remember a discussion about your being distinctly uncomfortable with carrying on in your grandmother's home.”

“I am.  I didn't come in here to ravish you.  I...uh.  Well, what do you think?”

“About what?”

“About everything, I guess.”

Mycroft turned that knowing gaze onto him and planned his next words very carefully.  He'd been afraid that some of Gregory's nervousness had been about this, about his concern that Mycroft might find all of this beneath him, that he might be turned-off by Gregory's down-to-earth roots.  He didn't know when the man would finally get it through his thick skull that it was quite the opposite of a turn-off.  He dealt with posh, coy, self-aggrandizing idiots constantly.  Gregory's no-nonsense manner, just Gregory himself, was like a breath of fresh air at the end of each day.  He didn't have to pretend and pander and plot his life like a chess match with this man.  It was very much a wonder to him that he still couldn't see how important that was to Mycroft.

“I think,” he said very softly as he reached up to cup Greg's jaw, “that this house is lovely and that your grandmother is charming.  I see where you get it from now.”

Greg let out a breath that he probably meant to be a laugh, but was actually a poorly disguised sigh of relief.  “You do go on, don't you?  She can be a little...”

“Please stop worrying.  I don't care what she is or says or does.  I can endure anything for two days, and nothing that happens here is going to change things on my end.  It will be fine.”

“For you have so decreed?”

“Yes.  Now give me a kiss for luck, and we'll go face your fire-breathing grandmother.”

Greg brought his hand up to mirror Mycroft's as they leaned in for a chaste kiss.  He turned and opened the door to head back into the hall when he felt a firm swat against his backside.  He yelped and spun around to see Mycroft smiling broadly. 

“Just in case I need extra luck.”

“Jesus, Mycroft.”  He tried to say it sternly, but that was very hard to do when he was fighting against laughter.  “That's enough of that now.”

“Yes, dear.”  And with that, they headed down to the kitchen.

*^*^*^*^*

She'd set them out a simple luncheon of sandwiches and soup.  They made small talk for a while; he chatted a bit about some of this cases, and Nan chatted a bit about some of the neighbors.  As the meal wound down and he got up to clear the dishes, he saw her square her shoulders and put on her “business” face.  Mycroft saw it too, but kept his placid, polite mask in place. 

“Gregory, could you go down to the cellar and fetch us a jar of that raspberry jam you like so much?” his grandmother asked.

“We just ate, Nan.”

“Gregory...”

Mycroft caught his eye and let him know that it was okay.  She needed a few moments one on one with Mycroft, and he completely understood.  He didn't really mind, it was Gregory who paled at the thought.  Still he nodded his assent and headed out and around to the root cellar.

Once he was out of earshot, Virginia turned to Mycroft and said, “I'll make this quick, Mr. Holmes.  That boy is all I have left in this world.  I'll not see him hurt.  He loves you.  I've never seen him like this about anyone before.  Now, I don't know you, but I trust Greg's judgment.  If he thinks you're worthy then I'm willing to think the same...unless you give me a reason to change my mind.  Are we clear?”

“Very much so.  I adore him, ma'am.  You'll never have a reason to change your mind, that I can promise you.”

“Is your job dangerous, too?”

“Not in the way that his is, no.”

“Then how?”

“I can't delve into that precisely.  I have ensured that his person will never be endangered by my work.  That's really all I can say.”

“He seems to think you run the whole world or something.”

“He has an exaggerated sense of my importance.”

She gave him a dubious look then asked, “Do you have a problem with his work?”

“How so?”

“I mean are you going to be one of these who marries a copper then decides down the road that you just can't handle it?  I've seen it happen.  He loves his job.  It's not what I would have chosen for him, but I won't see anyone get in the way of it.”

“I have no intention of getting in the way of his career.  I have no intention of attempting to change anything about him.  I know better than to think that I could, and I don't want to try.  I like him just as he is, and his job is very much a part of who he is.  I can handle whatever it throws our way.”

She gazed back at him, taking in the measure of the man who would be part of her family.  She had no doubt that he was a smooth talker, but her instincts were telling her that this man wasn't just saying what she wanted to hear.  He wasn't afraid of her, he wasn't trying to ingratiate himself, he was just telling the truth.  They heard the sound of Greg heading back around from the cellar.  She watched through the window as he crossed the garden and headed for the door.  Before he reached for the latch she looked back at her grandson's future and said, “Welcome to the family, Mycroft.”

He just smiled.

*^*^*^*^*

Greg had reluctantly left them to it and headed down to the root cellar.  He puttered about a bit, giving them time to sort things out before he headed back inside, fighting the urge to just pace back and forth across the dirt floor of the small room.

Thing was, his grandmother had a knack for interrogation. He had channeled his nan more than once in the midst of worming information out of difficult suspects.  She just had a gift for questioning people.  Just as Mycroft had a gift for not answering people.  Well, maybe gift was the wrong word.  The man could spout a fountain of words without actually saying a damn thing.  They had had more than one argument caused by that clash in their natures.  The suspicious, curious investigator and the tight-lipped double-talking bureaucrat.  He didn't mind those so much though.  Their arguments never lasted long and usually resolved themselves in the form of some truly spectacular shagging.  But he had no idea how a clash between his digging nan and his dodging boyfriend would resolve itself.  If it would resolve itself.

He decided it was best not to give them too much time alone.  If things were going badly, he didn't want it to get out of hand before he could intervene.  He was clenching his jaw again by the time he stepped back into the kitchen to see his nan and his lover smiling at each other across the table.  Mycroft looked up and immediately noted the tight line of his jaw but had the grace not to say anything.  Unfortunately, Nan noticed Mycroft noticing, and she turned toward Greg. 

“Are you grinding your teeth again?”

“No, Nan.”

“Hmph.  But you were about to, weren't you?”

Before he could say anything, Mycroft uttered, “I've told him time and again how bad it is for his teeth.”

Nan nodded in agreement, “That it is.  And you have such lovely teeth, Greg.”

Greg shot her a stunned look just as Mycroft let out a bark of delighted laughter.

“That's exactly what I told him.  I don't think he believed me.”

Nan stood up to take the jar of jam that she hadn't really needed out of Greg's hand.  As she rose, she smiled at Mycroft, patted him on the shoulder, and asked, “Would you like a lemon biscuit, Mycroft?”

Mycroft looked pointedly at Greg as he answered, “I would love one.  Thank you.”  That's what his mouth said anyway, but his face and his eyes and that damn lifted eyebrow were speaking a very clear “I told you so.”

Greg would have thumped his ear if he hadn't suddenly gone boneless with relief.

*^*^*^*^*

They spent the rest of the day mostly in the garden.  It had turned into a beautiful afternoon, and he and Mycroft helped Nan with some weeding and planting, then they carried the table outside to have tea in the sunshine.  Greg had no idea what the two of them had discussed during his brief absence, but whatever it was seemed to have settled things nicely between his nan and Mycroft.  They chatted merrily about anything and everything.  Nan told Mycroft stories about Greg's childhood, and Mycroft told Nan stories about his mad genius of a brother and his exploits with Greg.  Greg sat drinking his tea, watching them natter on, and realized that the two of them were bonding.  He had thought that the best he could hope for was their polite tolerance of each other for his sake, but damn if the two of them weren't becoming fast friends.  At first he didn't know whether to be overjoyed or scared to death, but, as he watched his love throw his head back to laugh uproariously at something Nan had said, he decided to go with overjoyed.  He was very hard-pressed to keep from laying a big, wet kiss on Mycroft's mouth for managing to make this work.  Instead, he settled for soaking up the dying rays of the sun and basking in the pleasant buzz of conversation between the only two people in the world whom he loved.  There were worse ways to spend a day.

*^*^*^*^*

They'd gone to bed early that night, pleasantly tired from the time spent out of doors and the release of tension that they'd all been feeling.  Mycroft had kissed his grandmother on the cheek, wished her a pleasant night, and headed into his room.  Greg had squeezed her in a fierce hug and whispered, “Thank you,” into her ear before he let her go.  She patted his cheek and smiled fondly before wishing him a good night and heading into her own bedroom. 

He seriously debated heading straight to his own room before he did something stupid but slipped into Mycroft's room anyway.  He caught him in the middle of putting on his pyjamas, shirtless and in bare feet.  He turned and smiled gently at Gregory as he said,  “I think perhaps your being here is not the best idea.”

“Why not?”

“Because I'm half naked and half hard and feeling quite pleased with myself.”

“I'm quite pleased with yourself, too.”

“I know.  That doesn't help, either.”

“I just wanted to thank you. I...”

“There's no need to thank me, Gregory, I didn't do anything.  She's lovely.  You're fortunate to have her.  And we both agree that we're fortunate to have you.  That's quite enough to be going on with.”

“Yeah.  It's uh...it's turned out all right, huh?”

“Yes.  Now go to bed before we mess that up.”

“Irresistible, am I?” Greg laughed.

Mycroft didn't.  He nodded and said, “Yes,” and Greg couldn't help but notice the gleam in his eyes.

He cleared his throat and backed toward the door.  “Good night, My.”

“Good night, Gregory.”

After he closed himself in his own room, he stripped down to his boxers and crawled into the narrow bed alone.  He fell asleep far more quickly than he would have predicted and dreamed of sunlight and pale skin.

*^*^*^*^*

The next morning was Sunday.  Nan headed down to the village for morning service, leaving the “boys” to fend for themselves.  They sat down to a breakfast of toast with raspberry jam and some rashers of bacon she had left for them on the hob.

“You could have gone with her, you know.  I would've been fine here alone,” Mycroft said after he'd eaten his piece of toast.

“Why would I have done that?”

“Presumably to see some of your old friends.”

“I never really lived here, Mycroft.   I just visited a lot.  They really aren't the people I grew up with.”

“Ah.  Is that the only reason?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, do they know about you?”

“About me? What about me?  Oh, you mean do they know that I'm gay?  Yeah.  That's old news.  I've never advertised it, but it's a small town.  No one in my family was ever ashamed of it, ever thought to keep it a secret.”

“You're very lucky to have had them.”

“Yeah.  Yeah, I am.  Look, I didn't stay home out of shame, My.  I'm fine with who I am, and I'm damn proud to have you.  I'm just not interested.  Church never did anything but bore me, and there's no one there that I want to see.”

Mycroft nodded, doing his best not to seem relieved, but failing more than a bit. 

Greg reached over to squeeze his hand and he left it there as the finished eating.  When they finally rose to clear the dishes Mycroft asked, “What's on the agenda for today, then?”

“Not much really.  We'll need to head back to the city around three, I guess.  So, lunch and goodbyes.  That's about it.”

“What did you normally have for Sunday lunch when you were here?”

“Chicken usually.  Just roast chicken and veg. And ginger cake.”

“Ginger cake sounds nice.”

“Yeah, she makes a killer ginger cake.”

“We could cook lunch ourselves.  Thank your grandmother for her hospitality.”

“Yeah?  I guess we could.  You're pretty handy in the kitchen.”

“I am.  I can put the chicken in to roast while you find her recipe for that cake.”

“You know you don't have to do this.  You've already worked your magic on her.”

“I'm not trying to worm myself into her good graces, Gregory.  I like her, and I'm ridiculously pleased that she appears to like me.  This seems an easy enough way to express my gratitude.”

Greg reached over and cupped the back of his dark head and simply held him like that for a few moments.  He was on the verge of being overwhelmed.  He'd expected this weekend to be a disaster, but it had turned into something quite wonderful instead.  He and his nan and Mycroft had started to build something here, they were forming a family with Greg at the center.  Had he been the type for tears, he'd have been in serious danger of making an ass out of himself.  Instead, he leaned over and kissed Mycroft deep and long.  When the kiss ended, he stayed close, resting their foreheads together, one hand on the nape of Mycroft's neck and the other resting at the small of his back.  He breathed in the other man's warm, damp exhalations until he felt he'd gotten hold of himself.  He pulled back with a final caress against warm skin and met a gaze that mirrored his own sense of relief and affection.

Greg cleared his throat a few times and stepped back as he said, “Well, I'll just go track down that recipe so we can bake my nan a cake.”  Mycroft was right, she deserved it.  They deserved it.  Besides, it really was good cake.  And the thought of letting Mycroft taste-test the batter by licking it off of Greg's finger didn't sound too bad either.  As Mycroft started hunting pans in the kitchen, Greg wandered over to the crowded little shelf in the sitting room to find his nan's recipe book – his jaw loose, his teeth safe, and his heart full.  


**Author's Note:**

> This was originally written for Spring into Sherlock over at Sherlockmas over on livejournal. The prompt was "Mycroft and Lestrade bake a cake."


End file.
